For whatever reason I keep the invite. I tuck it into an inner pocket of my purse, and it stays there, burning a hole through the leather.
I know who it came from even if he didn't leave his name. Harrison.
Why, I didn't know and why he seemed to be so taken by me, I didn’t know either. His presence still haunts me, even hours later when I'm safely tucked away in my apartment.
Tate, my best friend, colleague, and roommate still isn't home. I haven't seen her all day which isn't like her at all. I open the message thread and check if she's read my last text, but the tick is still gray rather than blue. Unread. It really isn't like her.
I didn't see her at the office today and when I left this morning her bedroom door was still closed, but I didn't check to see if she was still sleeping. After all, it was really early, and I was heading to the gym where I'd then meet her later at the office for our morning coffee. She wasn't there. It was our routine, and had been since we met seven years ago.
Maybe she's sick, I think, as I pad down the hall and stop outside the room. The door is slightly ajar, so I push it open, letting the light in the hall flood the bedroom. The bed is made, the pillows organized.
Chewing the inside of my lip I pad back to the kitchen, pouring the last of the wine into my glass.
She always lets me know if she's going to be late. She could be with Garett, Tobias' son, I suppose. I knew their relationship had developed some in the past few months. I thought it a bad idea to date the boss’s son who in turn is also our boss, if not directly, but she ignored my advice. He treats her well, I guess, though I hadn't spoken to him much. I didn't like Tobias, he freaked me out, so I assumed his son was the same way and avoided him.
Shaking off the feeling I take my wine and head to the small cozy armchair that faces the window overlooking the park.
It's late, the streets below empty save for a few late-night dog walkers, which is why it's easy to spot the lone male leaning against a Mercedes parked directly opposite the apartment building. He's wearing dark clothing, boots and a leather jacket, and he's far enough away from the streetlights that his face is shrouded in shadow. He lifts his hand and places his lit cigarette between his lips, the cherry on the end burning bright as he sucks in and then blows out the smoke. His hand catches in the light and the tattoos inked into his skin makes my heart stop. My fingers tighten around the wine glass. Though I can't see his eyes, I know he is looking at me, and he knows I'm looking at him.
He followed me. Harrison followed me.
I stumble away from the window, pulling out my phone to dial the police.
My finger pauses over the green button. I could be wrong. Plenty of people have tattoos on their hands and while this street is quiet, there are plenty of people who live here, walk through here to get to their destination. It was a safer street than any of the others around here. Whoever it was could be waiting for anyone. I needed to make sure it was actually Harrison before I called the police on an innocent man.
Even though all these thoughts are logical, rational, my heart still thumps wildly and continues to do so as I slip a coat over my shoulders to shield me from the cold, and drag my feet into my boots. My legs are bare thanks to the cotton pyjama shorts I wear, but I'll only be out long enough to confirm his identity.
I stop in front of the door. Do I need a weapon?
I scoff, the sound loud in my quiet apartment, and throw the door open, leaving it on the latch so I can get back in. The building is quiet, my steps loud and echoing down the stairwell as I descend. The front door looms, but I steel my spine and approach. I try to peer through the glass but at the angle, I can't see the part of the street where I last saw him. I'll have to go out there.
It's fine, I tell myself, there are people around, they'll hear me scream.
Everything was always fine.
Gritting my teeth, I pull the door open and step out into the frigid air, walking slightly away so I can see the road, and the window into my apartment, but when I get there, the road is empty. No cars. No random, shadowed men. I deflate with a sigh and shake my head. It wasn't him. I was being ridiculous.
I turn on my heel and collide with a hard chest. Hands reach out to steady me, tattooed hands with rings on the fingers.
His palm clamps around my mouth before I can scream.
Icy eyes bore down into mine and an infuriatingly handsome smile tugs on his mouth.
“Hello, love,” Harrison says, “if I let go are you still going to scream?”
Fear is a powerful thing, it makes you weak, vulnerable and at anyone's mercy, but even knowing that, even knowing it’s the fear that will likely kill you before anything else does, you submit to it hoping if you make yourself as small as possible whatever threat is there will simply go away.
I shake my head, and he gently releases his hand.
"It's a little late to be going out in nothing but a skimpy pair of shorts." He grins, eyes raking over my bare legs as if it were a caress. Fire begins to pool low in my stomach, a warning surely, not at all what I think it could be, especially not as my body, my thighs shake. His tongue wets his lips as he meets my eyes again, the steel ball on his tongue catching in the light. The glint in his eyes tells me he knows exactly what’s going on, and he is thriving on it.
"Are you following me?" I blurt, ignoring all the red flags and warning signs.
"Me?" He gasps in mock shock, "I was going for a walk."
"Here? On my street?"
"A coincidence." He shrugs. "It just sounds like you're paranoid."
My brows tug into a frown. I didn't believe it was simply a coincidence, but I knew where my strengths were, and I had little when he was around.
He could crush me so very easily.
I shake my head and step around him, hurrying back towards the front door.
"Put more clothes on if you're leaving your apartment," he tells me, his voice holding more authority and seriousness than it did a few moments ago.
I glare over my shoulder. His mouth kicks up, "wouldn't want you to catch a chill." He purposely eyes me then and all the skin I have on show. The heat his gaze leaves is more disturbing than even catching him here.
I rush in and don't look back until I'm safely behind my front door, and the bolt is locked.
My throat feels closed, and my heart feels as if it’s trying to break through my chest and when I go back to the window, hiding around the corner and only peering out, the street is completely empty. I risk stepping out further and leaning, looking left and right, but he's gone. I can pretend none of that happened. I can pretend that my fear was only that, fear, it was nothing else.
I go to bed with a knife under my pillow.
I wake in the morning, groggy and exhausted, my hand is curled around the handle of the kitchen knife I had hidden under there. I roll onto my back, glancing at the clock on the side. It's five am, still dark outside and the usual time I get up to go to the gym, but I’m too tired to do anything other than try to get a few more hours of sleep.
At eight, I climb out of bed, still exhausted, limbs heavy. I place the knife back in the drawer as I hit the button on the coffee machine. I look around the apartment, hoping to see some sign that Tate came home, but there are none and when I glance back over my shoulder to her bedroom, her door is open and her room empty.
With a cup of coffee, I trudge back to my room to get ready for work. I dial her number which goes directly to answer phone.
Worry gnaws at my stomach, overpowering the lingering fear Harrison left in me. Where was she?
_